


Sacred Enough

by Sour_Idealist



Category: Promare (2019)
Genre: Burnish leader cultural duties, Fluff, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:42:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21788449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sour_Idealist/pseuds/Sour_Idealist
Summary: The Burnish have few leaders, and so many duties fall to the leader of Mad Burnish simply because there's no one else to do them. Lio takes them seriously, each and every one, and so the Burnish continue to come to him even after the world changes again.One of those duties is to perform weddings.
Relationships: Lio Fotia/Galo Thymos, OFC/OFC
Comments: 28
Kudos: 333





	Sacred Enough

Lio slams into the Burning Rescue break room and flings himself into the nearest chair, legs slung carelessly over the side. Galo drops his magazine immediately, because that particular huff means Lio is about to ask the room a question, and it could be absolutely anything. Highlights have included:

“What's the legal difference between an act of terrorism and general crime?” (“Good question,” Ignis said.)

“How do I get a library card?” (“Give them your name and proof of address! They'll mail you a letter for proof if you need it,” Galo said, and then, “What? There's a whole bookshelf on the history of firefighting at the one downtown.”)

“Who's exempt from Promepolis housing code subsection B exactly?” (Ignis knew that one too but absolutely none of it stayed in Galo's head.)

“How many kinds of dog _are_ there?” (All of Burning Rescue pulled out their phones to look that one up.)

“What's the statute of limitations on grand theft auto in Australia? Do we have an extradition treaty there?” (Remi says Australia has no statute of limitations.)

“How do I find lawyers specializing in discrimination law?” (“I know some names I can send you,” Aina said, and Galo needs to find a way to ask her about that sometime, if she wants to tell him.)

“What the hell is a cruller?” (Lucia ordered three dozen doughnuts by the time he finished talking.)

Today, Lio tilts so far back over the arm of the chair that his hair nearly brushes the floor and says, “What do I need to do to be able to legally marry someone?”

There is a weighty pause.

“Aren't you boys moving a little fast?” Ignis asks, and Lio almost falls out of his chair.

“To _officiate!”_ he snaps, swinging himself halfway to vertical. “To marry someone _to someone else._ Not to me!” Galo's ears are burning, which is better than anything _else_ burning but not on the same level of acceptability as a soul.

“Who's getting married?” Aina asks, busily painting her toenails. The inside of her cockpit is spattered with little smears of red and lacquered gold from when she's called out on missions with her nails still wet.

“Two of the Burnish,” Lio says. “The once-Burnish. Etta Niva and Hoshi Luminos.” There's a faint, small smile playing around the edges of his mouth, invisible unless you look for it. Galo is getting pretty good at spotting Lio smiles.

“Why're you doing it?” Aina asks, and Lio gives her one of the looks he gives people who've asked a question that doesn't make sense to him, which usually means something is going to tug at a sad soft place in Galo's heart.

“I do a lot of marriages for the Burnish,” he says. “I'm all we have. Or I was.” Which, yes, there it is. But Lio's smiling again, little and almost shy. “She said they still want me to be the one to do it.” The smile escapes his control, wrinkling up the corners of his eyes in a way even people who aren't Galo would have to notice. It makes sense. To Galo, other people's trust is a weight to carry, though a light one: something to fling over his back and take off running. To Lio, it's a fragile thing, something to be cupped carefully between his hands and sheltered against breaking. “So I need a... license, probably?”

“You'll want to become a minister online, if the wedding is soon,” Varys says. “It's not hard. You might become a justice of the peace after we have a mayor again, if you want to make a statement.”

“Time matters,” Lio says, frowning thoughtfully into the middle distance. “Just as long as it's legal, that's the important thing.”

“I bet you've never said that before,” Lucia says, sliding through the conversation in a rolling chair. Lio's head turns to follow her for a moment before he visibly gives up, probably because Lucia is a hundred percent right. There's a faint thump as her chair collides with the table, jostling Aina's nail polish, and a familiar argument kicks off, diverting attention.

“Are there a lot of Burnish weddings?” Galo asks. It's not something he'd ever thought about before. (He thinks more than he'd like about the cave, and Lio saying that the Burnish need to eat as much as any human. He wishes he hadn't said that; he doesn't want to rush into saying something like that again. He'll rush in better directions.)

“A few a year,” Lio says, not offended this time. He's sliding back down the chair again, sprawling out across the space. There are two Lio sprawls, one when he's genuinely comfortable and one when he's making a point, and then sometimes – like now – the one starts melting into the other. “We find each other.”

“Like I found you,” Galo says, smiling, and reaches out to nudge Lio's knee with his foot. Lio rolls his eyes.

“I came looking for you,” he says.

“The brightness of my spirit was a signal to you,” Galo retorts, and gets a balled-up napkin thrown at his head. (It's _true,_ though. Lio even admitted it, once. Well, he said he picked Galo to capture him because Thyma said Galo tried to be kind to her. It's the same thing.)

* * *

“Whatcha working on?” Gueira asks, dropping into the seat across from Lio. Lio has papers crowding out snacks on the kitchen table, all covered in tiny cramped letters that he can apparently read even if Galo can't. Lio's handwriting is the only thing he doesn't sprawl out, the only way he doesn't try to take up as much space as his body will allow. It's not an unusual sight – there's as much Burnish work as firefighting getting done at the Burning Rescue station these days. It's not a kind of saving people that Galo is good at, but he makes coffee and he takes the kitten-in-a-tree calls so that some of the others can help put the city back together. (Kitten calls are _great_ anyway, even if Galo does have to wear a shirt.)

This time, though, Lio says, “It's for the wedding.”

“What, still?” Gueira scoffs. “Just get up there and say something so they don't feel like the ceremony happened too fast, that's all you gotta do.”

“You say that every time,” Lio grumbles.

“It's _true_ every time.” Gueira leans over to scruff his knuckles through Lio's hair; Lio growls, swatting his hand away. Galo's heart does something tight and strange. Meis and Gueira have known Lio longer than Galo has, far longer, even if they haven't shared everything that Galo and Lio have, and he wants that, wants years and years of knowing what Lio does and thinks and wants. But it'll come, in time, and Gueira and Meis kept Lio safe until Galo could find him.

“Hey, Galo, back me up,” Gueira says, waving in his direction.

“Shut up,” Lio says, elbowing him. “Galo, what do you think I should say at the wedding? It's secular-Christian.”

“Iunno, I've never been to one,” Galo says, already forgetting to look up what secular-Christian means, and pops a potato chip in his mouth. “It sounds nice.” When he looks up, Lio is looking at him, mouth furrowed and thoughtfully small.

“Would you like to come?” he asks. “I have permission to bring a guest.”

“Sure,” Galo says. “I'll come cheer you on with the speech.”

“It's not just the speech,” Lio mutters, but he goes back to the table, smiling. Galo shoves the chips within his reach, or what's left of them, anyway.

* * *

“Galo!” Lio bellows. Galo sticks his head out of the kitchen, which is really just a cubbyhole off the edge of the main room, but at least the stove is installed safely.

“Enh?”

“Where's your iron?” Lio demands, waving a length of white cloth in Galo's direction. Galo blinks.

“My what.”

“Your iron,” Lio repeats.

“Why would I have an iron?”

Galo thinks it's a valid point. He wears jeans and boxers. Lio, however, is unimpressed.

“Well, I need to iron this,” he snaps. “The wedding is tomorrow.” He's worrying at his lip, fingers twitchy at his side. Galo kind of thinks that if these people wanted someone with perfectly ironed cravats and practiced speeches they could've gotten a priest or somebody instead of Lio, but he's not sure how to put that into words. Instead he shoves the orange juice back into the fridge and digs his keys out of his pocket, heading for the door.

“Where are you going?” Lio asks. Galo squints at him.

“To get an iron?” he says.

“I... oh. Um. Thanks.” Galo has done way cooler things than this today, so he's not sure why this is making Lio stutter and smile, but okay.

The lady at Jarget is super nice and reminds Galo to get an ironing board so he doesn't have to make two trips, but when he gets back, Lio unpacks everything and then unfolds every single page of the manual, squinting at it from an inch away.

“Can't you just do what you normally do?” Galo wants to know.

“I normally used _fire,_ ” Lio snaps, prickly and raw, with his shoulders hunched against the world, which – oh, okay. There's only one thing for Galo to do about that, which is to take two steps forward and nuzzle into Lio's hair.

“'S fine,” Lio mutters, leaning back into Galo's chest with a long slow exhale. “It's... I'd just make an iron, and a board. It was very straightforward. No waiting for it to heat.”

“Don't leave it lying facedown,” is Galo's contribution. “Or leave it unattended.”

“...Galo,” Lio says, very slowly. “I know that hot things are hot. Because I dealt with fire every day of my life.”

“Fire safety is important.”

Lio sputters like an adorable teakettle, which he does a lot. Galo ignores it and keeps rubbing his nose into Lio's hair, content, until finally Lio nudges him away. “I'll work it out,” Lio says. “It's not hard, I just need to read it.” He pauses. “You have absolutely nothing to wear tomorrow, do you.”

“Yes I do!” Galo says proudly. “I'm fully prepared. I...” He stops. “Oh. I did wear it to get a medal for arresting you. Is that a problem?”

Lio's eyebrows do something complicated and extremely cute. “Let me see it,” he says, setting the iron aside – standing up properly, Galo notes, even though he hasn't plugged it in yet. Galo obeys – not hard, he keeps the dress uniform in the garment bag it came in whenever he isn't wearing it – and Lio purses his lips, looking it over.

“It's not that recognizable,” he says at last. “It should be fine.”

“Okay.” Galo sets the bag down on a chair – carefully – and belly-flops onto the futon. “You know you're gonna be great at this, right?”

“I just need to get it right,” Lio says, frowning down at the ironing board, which isn't a yes, but, okay. Galo can keep telling him.

* * *

The wedding is in a little garden in one of the half-repaired parts of town. The horizon is all scaffolding and ruins and half the flowerbeds are overgrown, flowers winding into the grass, but there's a fountain that's somehow still running, and tall and swaying trees. Someone's lined up a bunch of folding chairs – Galo tests one; it's going to hold him up okay – and there's a whole crowd of people there, settling in.

Lio, of course, looks absolutely perfect, all black velvet – apparently leather isn't fancy enough – and a crisp ruff of perfectly ironed white at his throat, every hair combed meticulously into place. (With Galo's hair gel.) Etta Niva turns out to be a stout woman in dress pants and a long blue tie, with her hair swept back into a silver undercut that Galo envies, and a look on her face like she's about to take a terrifying test. Galo has a vague idea that there's supposed to be bridesmaids or something, and maybe a big pipe organ somewhere, but instead there's simply the sounding of a bell, and then the other bride, Hoshi, walks down the aisle.

She's beautiful, Galo realizes. She's old enough to be his mother, if he had one, and her hair too is going gray, and there's a pattern of old scars visible on the side of her neck, and the dress she's wearing doesn't look long or frilly enough to be a wedding dress, and there's no music at all. But she's wearing white and it's pretty, and she's clutching a bundle of flowers, and her face looks – she's looking across the garden like she just watched someone she loved come back to life. And now, at the aisle, Etta is suddenly beautiful too, her face and soul aglow.

Galo decides that he loves weddings.

Someone Galo doesn't know stands up and says something, and someone else sings a short song that sounds pretty nice, and then, at last, Lio tugs his cuffs down his wrists and steps up to the mic, shoulders set so stiffly back that Galo can practically see the armor-spikes. Lio licks his lips.

“When my mother started Mad Burnish,” he begins, the rich deepness of his voice settling heavy over the garden, “she said it was because no one should have to be a Burnish alone. She taught me, and all of us, that even when the world gives us nothing but the fire, we will always have each other.

Since I took up her mantle, I have been honored to stand in ceremony for many of the Burnish, and I usually spoke about that lesson: that love is what we have when everything else has been taken away. When Etta and Hoshi came to me a year ago and asked me to marry them, I thought I would be speaking about it again.” He pauses; the corner of his mouth crooks up. “A lot has changed.”

Laughter ripples through the garden, warm and fond from some, slightly nervous from the rest. Lio gives them practiced time, waiting until the first beat of silence. “A lot has changed,” he repeats. “Some of us have lost the fire that has been with us for much of our lives, while others have lost a power we were only just beginning to understand. Many of us are not here who once might have been.” Another pause, only a heartbeat long. “But instead of hiding in the shadow of the volcano, we stand here in the open for everyone to see. Hoshi's family can be here to see her married, side by side with all of us.” He inclines his head to one side of the aisle, and there's a number of sniffles and a shaky, tearful laugh. Galo's throat kind of hurts, suddenly, but in a good way.

“When we leave today,” Lio continues, “we will go out into a world where we once again have a place among the rest of humanity. This ceremony has weight not only to us, but to the law, which at last gives us that grace: that we are people, that we are here to live our lives, that we fall in love.”

“And yet, after everything has changed –” Lio turns a little, towards the brides, not quite moving his head away from the mic. He's so _good_ at this. “Here you two are.” Etta sniffles, one hand pressed quick to her mouth.

“The two of you have stayed with each other while every rule about the world was rewritten,” Lio continues, and turns back out to the crowd. “Every time I said that love is what we have in a world that gives us nothing else, I stand by it still. But it's more than that. Love is also what holds us together until we can reach a better world. And when, suddenly, we find we have everything, love is what tells us what it is to _do_ with it – what meaning any of it has, how to live in a world that is so much better and yet so terrifyingly unfamiliar. Love is what teaches us to believe in the possibility of happiness, once it finds us.” His gaze settles on Galo for just a moment, and heat flashes up the back of Galo's neck, burning at the corners of his eyes. (Eyes, like souls, are acceptable places for a burning to be.) Lio's cheeks go faintly pink, barely visible from Galo's seat.

“Sometimes,” Lio says, “love is even what it takes to bring that better world to us.”

Galo misses the next few lines of the speech – it sounds like something about the brides, something Lio's known about them over the years. The old man next to him nudges at his elbow and slides him a pack of tissues, smiling; Galo smiles back through his tears, mouthing his thanks.

“Now,” Lio says, at the front of the crowd, turning again towards the brides. “Etta, if you would repeat after me: I, Etta Niva, take you, Hoshi Luminos...”

 _To have and to hold, to love and to cherish, for better and for worse, in heat and in cold, in sickness and in health._ Galo clutches three tissues at once to his face and tries not to cry too loudly, because everyone should be able to hear every word of the vows that Lio lays out so carefully, that these women swear to each other with their souls shining for the whole city to see.

The man next to him pats his elbow, smiling.

* * *

“You were _so great,”_ Galo enthuses, squeezing Lio's hand.

The reception was easy to reach – everyone stood up and walked around to the other side of the fountain, where there's two plastic tables and a bunch of aluminum pans of food, just waiting to have the covers pulled off. People have been coming up to Lio the whole time to say basically what Galo just did. It's actually extremely easy to tell who was one of the Burnish and who wasn't, not for any stupid reasons but because the Burnish say “Thank you for the speech, boss,” or “that was beautiful, sir,” and the not-Burnish say “What a lovely ceremony!” and sometimes, hesitantly, tell Lio that he seems like a very nice young man. Lio seems okay with all of it, nodding back with quiet dignity and a happy pinkness in his cheeks.

“Hey,” Galo says, and leans his chin on top of Lio's head. “We should get married someday.”

There's a strangled squeaking noise from below him. “Galo, it's been three and a half months.”

“Hey, I said someday!” Galo pokes him in the ribs. “I'd get you a ring or something, come on.”

“I can never tell what you'll do when,” Lio says, but he leans back against Galo's shoulder, smiling up at him. “I won't wear anything that's bigger than my knuckle.”

“Okay, okay,” Galo says, discarding the vague idea of a ring with a massive skull on it. Traditional, then. There's a place for traditions (like the matoi). “So, how long do I have to wait before I'm allowed to propose to you right? Just wondering.”

“Hmm.” Lio drums his fingers thoughtfully on Galo's arm. “A year after we met. That's the earliest.”

“Okay.” Galo could feel rejected about this, maybe, but – well, he doesn't. He knows how he feels, knows it like he knows that fighting fire is his job, and he knows the soft relieved hitch of Lio's breath when he buries into Galo's chest, knows the way Lio's tight-wound muscle relaxes under his hands; and he knows they make a team no one in the world can beat. He knows home when he finds it. If Lio needs a year, that's okay; Galo will be here in a year.

“Is there cake?” he asks. “I want cake.”

Lio's laugh is low and warm, a gentle buzz against Galo's ribs. “Yeah,” he says, and his voice is soft with wonder, which – yeah, okay, that's probably new, for the weddings Lio gives. “Yeah. Let's go have cake.”

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to [punkpixieprince](https://archiveofourown.org/users/punkpixieprince/pseuds/punkpixieprince) for help with names and to [Mondegreen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mondegreen) for helping me nail down the Jarget joke.


End file.
